MAPUSA TOWN

MAPUSA TOWN 1976

Now let's go to Mapusa! Let go to the fish market, and the great Friday Mapusa Bazaar of once upon a time!

The attached picture is scanned from an original photographic print that was taken from the first floor of the Camara Municipal de Bardez Offices in Mapusa in 1976. The view shows the road up the steep slope of Mapusa, Altinho, proceeding towards Duler. The steep incline posed a real challenge for a cyclist to make it to the top without alighting. My bicycle had no gears.

My friend and I often competed when we used to go to watch football matches in Duler. And once we got to the top it was a great feeling to just let go of the brakes and enjoy the cool breeze blow in your face. Very often I thought about the good old saying "Dukh kaddlear, sukh meuta" which was very applicable and true in this case.

On the right of the picture are the offices of the erstwhile Banco Nacional Ultramarino, later State Bank of India. Further up to the right is the building where the famous Kamat Studio was located.

On the left of the road going up (opposite Kamat) was Registo Civil of the Portuguese era and even later. The offices have now been moved to a dreadful place, a poorly maintained building, where all the old hand scripted record books and registers are simply going haywire. These old manuscripts are not stored properly and before any action is taken these important data will be lost forever.

Year : 1976 (the date can be clearly seen on the left side of white-bordered prints of that era. Printed in Dubai, United Arab Emirates.

Camera: Asahi Pentax, with f2.0 50mm standard lens.

Film & Print: Kodak

This picture is scanned from an original print.

© Tony Fernandes

A BRIDGE NO MORE

Photograph by: Tony Fernandes

A BRIDGE NO MORE

View from the Causeway

Ponte de Linhares

Entering Panjim from Ribandar and Goa Velha

Photo by Tony Fernandes, May 1972

converted from Kodachrome Transparency

As one can see in the picture this bridge had many supporting spans,but unfortunately it was one that had a very short life span.

A Bridge No More

“Ajeeb hai he Goa ke bridge”. Equally more “ajeeb hai contract award karnewale aur bridge bannewale”.

          The foundation stone of the first bridge over the River Mandovi was laid by the Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru. This bridge, called Nehru Bridge was completed in 1970. The waters of the Mandovi were lucky but just for a few years to pass underneath it. This bridge collapsed in 1986. The concrete spans did not mysteriously take a dive in the Mandovi; in fact it was primarily due to a faulty design and lack of maintenance work.

          Having taken 9 nine years to complete and another equal number of years till the pile-drivers found bedrock to give the bridge a footing, the teenage generation of that period that I belonged to patiently watched the seemingly slow process of its construction, seeing the bridge pylons from a distance while crossing the Mandovi river on the ferry between Betim and Panjim. It was not completed till I was in my early twenties when I had started working in Bombay and then in the Arabian Gulf.

          While I watched this bridge being built, it always gave me the impression that everything that went around the construction area seemed to be at a stand-still. I waited in vain for many years. On every vacation to Goa I said to myself: “You know, Tony, you are going to take the taxi straight home over that bridge the next time you come down to Goa”. The next time did come though, but not soon enough. It came many years later after an endless waiting period. And before I was in my forties, that ‘ajeeb’ bridge collapsed. And for many years again, we had no bridge. And the scenery around that area was not looking good either.

          Indeed ‘Ajeeb hai Goa ke bridge’ but not its people. Today people from other parts of India and from all over the world flock to this enchanting place lured by its fascinating beauty. It remains as a favourite tourist destination to many, and almost everybody I meet nowadays seems to wish to buy property there.

Tony Fernandes

MAJOR DAYS OF THE MORRIS MINOR

Major Days of the Morris Minor,

the Doctor, my Bicycle and Me

by Tony Fernandes

I grew up in Goa during the 1950’s and 1960’s. It was quite common to see American and European cars on the roads then. Although no one in my family owned a car, I was very happy to receive an occasional ride in a Morris Minor that belonged to our family physician.

On a side note, I was happy with a new adult-size bicycle that my father bought for me after I passed fifth standard. “The roads are far too narrow and dangerous, son; the cars and trucks are speeding” he said, while I had been waiting for my own bicycle for some time. (By the way, I think it was as though even the bicycle was bought keeping in mind the usual 'vaddtea angar'* principle that prevails until today (*literal meaning: for the growing body to benefit a fast-growing teenager!).

My bicycle played its part alongside the Morris Minor which was quite a popular car among other 'foreign' cars as they were commonly called in those days. It was a fine medium-sized piece of English automotive engineering of that era. They were seen in many colours: black, dark blue, grey or white, and were mainly privately owned by landlords, doctors, lawyers and merchants.

As a young lad I ran errands for many households other than my own. One of these errands, on many occasions, was to fetch a doctor to the village in an emergency. Sometimes I would be requested by a neighbour at a short notice for a quick brief: name of the town, name of the doctor, directions and special instructions for not forgetting to let the doctor know about the urgency and that he had to visit as soon as he possibly could.

One of these doctors who often visited our village had a clinic in the town of Mapusa, in the district of Bardez , North Goa, approximately three kilometers away from my village of Cumbiem Morod in Guirim. The good doctor happened to own one of these fine cars of the time. I would call it the ‘Mighty’ Morris Minor of yesteryear!

Having made it to the doctor’s clinic on my new bicycle, the first thing on my mind was to lock it. Then briefly speaking to the nurse at the clinic with a request for the doctor’s visit, I would wait outside for the doctor to conclude examinations of his remaining patients, if there were any. Leaving my bicycle outside the compound wall of the doctor’s clinic, I would ride along with the doctor giving him the directions to the patient’s house in our village.

It was customary in those days for an errand runner to carry the doctor’s medical kit bag as a courtesy. Walking and leading the way from the car to the patient's house, I must say I humbly did my duty. As for me, I considered that it was a great experience in doing so. During the short  walk from the road to the house on the winding pathway through the village, my thoughts wandered away and I felt as if I was the doctor. I momentarily also got further carried away in my thoughts. “Some day if I ever decide to be a doctor, then someone else will have to carry this bag” I thought.

After examining and having been convinced he had successfully diagnosed the illness of ‘The Goan Patient’ the following is what the doctor would usually say to the folks of the household in Konkani: “Bienaka re. Tum zatolo boro. Rexeth boroun ditam. Hem vokot, hea burgeak Farmacia Joao Menezes Mapxeam thaun porot etanam, adduni. Ani tuka koxem dista tem faleam sangun dilea puro.’ (Here a translation of what the doctor said: ‘Don’t worry. You will get alright. I’m writing a prescription. Tell this lad to buy this medicine on his way back from Joao Menezes Pharmacy. And tomorrow let me know how you feel.’)

Having said this, the doctor placed the sphygmomanometer and stethoscope back into his bag, washed his hands with a bar of new soap set aside solely for his use on the window sill while I poured water on his hands. The doctor smiled and wiped his hands on the clean towel. Suddenly, again my thoughts wandered off, thinking as though I was in the village chapel doing the duties of an altar boy pouring water over the fingers of the chaplain’s hand before coming back to reality.

As a courtesy the doctor then asked about the general health of the rest of the family members before heading for the door. Simultaneously, it was time for me to pick up the doctor’s bag and accompany him to his ‘Morris’ car. As we walked he was kind in inquiring as to how I was doing in school.

After getting a 'jolly good ride' in the well-kept 'Morris Minor' we arrived back at the clinic. After thanking the doctor for his visit, I pedalled quickly to the pharmacy and hand over the prescription to the pharmacist (a.k.a. 'compounder'). I would wait till the medicine was prepared and kept ready for collection. Through the swing doors of the laboratory I watched him cut out notches on a strip of paper, that indicated the doses, and paste it on the side of the bottle of the medicine.

Sometimes, along with the major benefit of enjoying a ride in the doctor’s Morris Minor in running this errand, there was also another reward for me in accomplishing this task at a later time from a family member of the patient with a treat of a cold drink or a ‘falooda’, sometimes tea and patties or a 'limboo-soda' (fresh lemonade).

After collecting and paying for the medication, I happily hurried back to my village on my bike, reaching home safely with the medicine bottle intact, at times in the hot afternoon sun, or monsoon rain, and sometimes just before sun-down. I handed the medicine over to the responsible member of house-hold, wishing the patient a quick recovery.

This brought to a close of yet one more major day for the Morris Minor, the Doctor, my bicycle and me, and also ending one more among many other stories of my wonderful and happy childhood that I will never forget.

Tony Felix Fernandes – Mississauga, Ontario - Canada

Bombay to Goa - The Little Odyssey

Panjim Jetty

THE LITTLE ODYSSEY

Bombay (now Mumbai) has been a second home to many Goans who have lived and worked there for generations. Nevertheless, they have not lost touch or their love for Goa. During the months of April and May, entire families will flock to Goa for their annual summer holiday along with their kids, soon after school final examinations. These two months have traditionally been the most enjoyable months, full of fun and frolic for everyone. The purpose of visits are many-fold; some of them are to get away from city life, holiday for parents and the kids, while other reasons are to carry out necessary repairs to ancestral homes and visit their loved ones. In the old days, many of us looked forward for such holidays. It would be an unforgettable experience. For most people the modes of transport to travel for this holiday was by steamer and bus, and to some by rail and air. Of all these, traveling by ship was the most popular and full of excitement. It was as though one large Goan family of more than five hundred members traveled for one mega holiday to one common destination: GOA. Here is my own experience.

It was the month of February
Not losing count of any single day
In quite a hurry
I seemed to be;
Thoughts of getting away
From life in the city
Of bright lights
Bus, tramcar and train
Far away from the hustle
And bustle of Churchgate,
Fort and Flora Fountain.

Endless waiting
Thoughts of school days
And final term examinations
Seemed never ending;

Memories of mangoes
Jack fruit and cashew apples
Were in the offing
Their aroma I imagined
And was for a while lost
In far away thoughts
And awakened by the sudden screech
Of a train speeding.

“Just one more month, son”
Mum and Dad seemed to comfort;
Dad has his suitcase
And holdall at the ready;
Mum has been shopping
For summer wear
At the local market fair.

Tickets are booked
Dad has made sure of that
“We will be going by steamer” he said.
“Aunty Pam and kids will join us too”
Said Mum in the summer
of nineteen sixty-two.

The day to leave for Goa
Has finally arrived
The Ambassador taxi
Is waiting down by the kerb-side;
Off to Ballard Pier before dawn we head
And on board our place we finally get.

The steamer’s deck is full;
There seems to be quite a din,
Each in their own place,
The great journey is about to begin,

The ship sounds its siren,
With a mighty roar
As it lift its anchor.

There’s slight rumble on deck
As tugs pulls it out to sea;
In the distance
The majestic grandeur
And awesome structure
Of this landmark
Gateway of India
Grew smaller and smaller.

Soon we head south
Along the hazy coast on our left,
On the right we see the huge expanse
Of the Arabian Sea;
While for some at the start
Of the twenty-four hour journey
Seems to be to quite dizzy,
Slight pitching of the ship
Only a short-lived agony;
Others are quite at ease and jolly
Perhaps having traveled
So many times before
That they lost count
In their memory.

It is midday out at Sea
Ship’s canteen is busy;
Gathered on the aft deck
It’s a hot summer’s day
A bunch of teenagers
Have already got started
With their guitars tuned;
Joined in shortly with some new friends
They have a go with the first round
It’s the beginning of our summer holiday
With the popular hits of the times
Of Cliff Richard and the Shadows
Bachelor Boy and Young Ones.

Its evening
With breeze from the south-west
There is a slight lull on deck;
The ocean’s waves are high
It seems the ship’s constant roll
Had its toll
For many are now relaxed
After a short snooze.

Silhouettes of seagulls at sunset
Formed flying patterns,
As the passing ship heading north
On our starboard side
Seemed to bellow
With its siren a huge hello;
Promptly acknowledged
By our ship that woke up
Many a tired fellow.

It was supper time
The silvery moon
Seemed to smile
With its reflection
On the starboard side
Leaning on the rail
We took it all in
And young men sang
Lilting melodies of moon songs
As we sailed along in the splendid night.

Astern the moon lit up
A white trail of surf in its wake;
Aft deck above the horizon
The Pole Star
Posed as a direction finder
Amidst the seven bright stars
Spanning the northern skies
In the mighty constellation
Of the Great Bear.

Fishing line cast out into the sea
A lone sailor

Joined us later

As he stared into the dark horizon
And before everyone fell asleep
Narrated mariner’s stories,
Great travel adventures and life at sea.

Dreams on the upper deck that night were plenty
If fact a huge string of them,
Happy and lengthy;
Thoughts of Calangute,
Colva and Miramar beach
Friday Mapusa Bazaar;
Visits to Goa Velha
And Dona Paula.

After a marathon journey and a long night
The sun seemed to be in no hurry to rise,
The landscape seemed familiar
Something I have seen in the years earlier
Dad pointed out to me
The distant forts of Tiracol and Chapora
And the oldest lighthouse of Asia
At Fort Aguada;
He seemed to hold court
For almost everyone on
On the ship’s portside
As we to our destination
Were getting closer .

The ship glided gently
Through the delta and sandbar
At the mouth of the Mandovi River
Edging towards the quay
Some admire the beauty
Of the city of Pangim
To our left other admire
The beauty of the hills of Betim.

Dreams will shortly turn into reality
Uncle Seby will come
To fetch us hopefully
In a reserved ‘Opel Rekord’ taxi
Taking us to our ancestral home finally
With an experience of what seemed to be
A little odyssey.

FROM AN EYE OF AN EAGLE

FROM AN EYE OF AN EAGLE

VOL. 2 (2005) by Tony Fernandes

I was visiting my folks who have their abode high up in the Western Ghats bordering Goa at its southeastern quarter bordered by covetous neighbours who have had their eyes and minds absolutely set on diverting waters from our main river and artery of life towards their own selfish needs.

I have been spending almost a fortnight with my relatives at their guest house aerie during the peak tourist season combined with the grand festivities of the Exposition of the Relics of our beloved Patron, Saint Francis Xavier, the revelry of the much-hyped fancies of IFFI, banquet on the new bridge, followed by the festivities of Christmas, and the merriment and partying that went along in ushering in the New Year, all in a row. I was held spellbound and was still reeling from the sweet pressures of excitement of these events.

But at the same time, deep in my heart I feared for the lives of my people down below, while they checked out all these functions going on all over the land, traveling by buses, trains, mopeds of myriad varieties, compounded with the added chaotic situation on our deadly roads – phantom deathtraps lying in wait. I was sure it was going to be an impossible task for them to commute on these roads where at most times caution and discipline is thrown to the wind.

How absent-minded could I be? I’m an eagle – the majestic lord of the skies. Of course I can fly and keep out of the congestion on our mind-boggling traffic situation. I know the situation has even worsened by erratic driving habits of most of our mindless road-users that defy description. Any transportation device that has more than two wheels has priority here in this bustling tourist attraction where vulnerable men, women and children fear to tread. They risk their lives daily in doing simple chores, be it in traveling to visit their relatives, going to the market place or even just standing by the side of the road.

So come one cool December early morning my three cousins and I decided to go sightseeing, flying over our southern coastal area and central cities with Cousin Senior in command. Cruising leisurely due west at an average speed of 20 kph we were over Palolem Beach in no time. Briefly, while gliding through these southern skies we thought we were in Paradise. The overwhelmingly serene and magnificent vista of this coastal area below had us fooled into believing we were lost, albeit momentarily, mesmerized by the sheer breath-taking beauty of our sandy shores. After having been forced back to reality in a little bit, we banked north-westwards towards Margao city cruising in unison.

We pride ourselves in flying. And we wished the earthlings did the same too. We follow strict codes of aviation discipline. Just to make certain that we were on the right path we swallowed our pride and signaled for directions from what looked like an unruly bunch of black birds, and as bad luck would have it, these vagrants crossed us flying north. We got no response from this lot at first. Then after a while we received a coded Morse that seemed alien. My cousin Harry-Eagle was quick in de-coding and deciphering the strange signals. He was probably right in assuming that these guys must be “bhaile”. My other cousin Larry-Eagle confirmed this wayward flying pattern coupled with strange garbled signals that they are not residents of the area. No need to carry on any further conversation or investigation, he thought. “Gang of nomads, lamanis?” he wondered, “Are they surveying areas of business interests where our ‘Ganv-Bhaus’ fear to tread?” he queried.

Just as we stopped pondering over these negative aspects and effects of the trivia about this “bhaile” and “bitorle” mentality, we tried to look upon the better side of it. Just reflect and see how benevolent, tolerant and peace-loving bird-souls we have always been. We have been very tolerant – we have accepted migrants not only from neighbouring areas but also flying backpackers from Europe and Russia who are taking over and laying eggs in the very aeries built by our forefathers.

The cool sea breeze from the serene western shores gently hit our portside wings. The brilliant sun in the east lit the northwestern slopes. Meandering rivers of liquid waste reflected sunlight into our eyes, and smoke-spewing factories made us gasp. Chimney stacks certainly seemed to have made a huge irreparable and ecological damage. Unseen disaster seems to be looming, waiting to happen. Or perhaps the damage is already done. We are not aware of the consequences. Effects will be felt after some time. Protrusions of the chimney-stacks have also marred the beauty of their once glorious, verdant and pristine hilly slopes.

My thoughts seemed to wander. I was lost in deep thought, flying blindly, so to say. Suddenly, I was interrupted by my cousin, an experienced and senior navigator. He brought to my attention that we were already soaring over the city of Margao. So we circled around trying to locate the once beautiful and mythical Margao Municipal Garden that he wanted me to see. After a frantic search among the chaos of unruly parking, the pollution in the main city square amidst the din created by cars, buses, trucks and scooters plying in all directions, we finally found the once mystical garden. One calling it a garden nowadays would be a grave error, a misnomer and very unjustified title indeed! My cousin said it that this is not how he remembers it. The city had lost its former charm, dignity and glory and old world charm. I wished hopes were not lost not forever. The city mayor had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hang on to a well-laid out pattern of a former picturesque town, with medieval grace, with broad sidewalks and cafes with awnings. Sadly the sidewalks were now used a free shelves for hawkers peddling trinkets. The old city dwellers dared to stand up unsuccessfully to the ravages of time, with the once beautiful garden now teeming with jobless day-lodgers, free sleepers on the municipal benches and idle waywards whiling their time away sprawled on what we could now hardly call lawns. A couple of lungi-clad idlers were using the once famous Trellis-gate as a shade for a nap.

As we glanced west we were saddened to observe the crushed coaches of KRC Elevated Mass Transportation System. It was supposed to be the most modern and revolutionary innovation on this side of the globe. Sadly, there went their dream! And ours too!

Generally, to surmise, we were not at all impressed with what we saw of the city. The squalor of side lanes, the unbearable stench in the market place that could be sniffed at an altitude of over 5500 feet, nearly sent my younger cousin into a downward spin!

Long ago the people of this great metropolis spoke three languages, mainly Konkani and also Portuguese and English. With our ultra-sound sensing devices we could now hear a rattle of over two dozen alien tongues and dialects, excluding foreign tourists conversing in strange lingo, babbling in mixed jargon of a variety of speech and idiom, defying the times of the Tower of Babel. They now seemed to be a confused lot, lost in a rat-race heading nowhere.

We had another problem yet again just before heading out of town. We seemed to have got lost in this city, given our fabled vision, flawless sense of direction and unmatched navigational skills. I know I am brag, but we felt challenged in this disturbed metropolis. We tried to locate a once well-known street. So we inadvertently signaled another bunch of unruly fliers, that we yet again unluckily ran into, for directions. After a slight delay, came a reply that we quickly deciphered and christened it as “Konkanarese”. My youngest cousin, linguistically adept as ever, was quick to decode the message. Strangely, it read: “Street ka Naam changed hai, saar, also now streeta goinga all DIE-WRECKTIONS, saar, but afternoona time each and everyone buddy goinga one-way, saar”. “Another bunch of ‘bhaile’obviously” blurted my no-nonsense flying partner, adding: “Very shoddy message drafted with obvious help from a “bitorlo” in preparing the original draft, I guess”. “Don’t be so rude” said I “You should not say things like that. After all some even genuine NRI’s are sometimes wrongly referred to as aliens in their own homeland!”

Following the glistening train tracks from Margao towards the north, we were soon cruising over Majorda and Cansaulim in succession, and before we realized it we were over Vasco in no time. We circled over the city for a while, keeping out of the path of the nosy and noisy flying machines landing and taking off from the nearby airport that we believe is still under the management of a naval command. It was almost noon – the peak hours of a peak season of incoming and outgoing tourists either landing or taking flight!

As good guests we had promised our uncle and aunt that we would report back in time for lunch. We wouldn’t like to have them worried about us. So we decided to speed up a little bit to their settlement situated high up in the mountains, along a row of aeries southeast of the border, down Canacona way, where a sumptuous meal and eager folks would be waiting anxiously for us.

Tracing our path back to the mountains was very easy. We simply followed our beaks, so to say. The train tracks led us due southeast at first. We then headed towards Colem before turning south. Our radio-operator gem of a cousin, Harry-Eagle, radioed our aerie-base about our whereabouts and ETA. Headquarters responded how anxious they were to hear about our escapade. We would definitely have an interesting tale to tell over another scrumptious afternoon home-meal that we have been so eagerly looking forward to. Just like hungry birds.

Tony Fernandes
Author
Goa: Memories of my Homeland
Poems and Stories

GENERATIONS OF FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHERS

My 'Documento de Viagem' photo

taken by Monteiro Sr. 1960

GENERATIONS OF FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHERS
By Tony Fernandes
Guirim, Cumbiem Morod, Bardez, Goa.

Tony Fernandes
Guirim – Bardez - Goa
Mississauga – Ontario - Canada

GOOD OLD DAYS OF KODACHROME TRANSPARENCIES

It’s been since in the mid-1960’s when I got my first camera till the late 1980’s that I was simply fascinated with Kodachrome transparency film. Though I had to wait for nearly 2 weeks to receive the film made into slides, it definitely was worth the wait.

The enjoyment was two-fold. First, the fulfillment was in joy of viewing the transparencies on a battery-operated slide-viewer, and later, after sorting them out and arranging them in sequence, was the added benefit of viewing them with family and friends on weekends, using a projector. Still, later, if preferred, you had yet another choice of making prints from the slides of your choice.

Before acquiring a back-lit slide-viewer, I must have spent quite a number of hours holding up slides to the light through the window with a magnifying glass.
Although the days of shooting slides may have long gone past, the brilliant colours and details still remain if stored with care. After alternating between slide film and print film in the beginning, I did carry two cameras at times, one with each type of film.

Eventually, even though I gradually decided to phase out shooting slides by mid-1990’s, my interest in viewing old ones did not ebb. Since then, once in a while, I would retrieve them, sort out the good exposures from the bad, and make prints from the ones I liked the most.

Today I hold dear and reminisce about the sheer joy of transparencies of another era.

The Majestic Mandovi Hotel

THE MAJESTIC HOTEL MANDOVI

(For an enlarged view please click on picture)

Getting back to nostalgia, Hotel Mandovi - one of the landmarks of yesteryear, was probably the only decent and prominent hotel in the city of Panjim in Goa, India. During the 1960's it was one of the only few modern buildings of the time.

I took this picture from the ferry crossing the River Mandovi at Betim. For me this diapositive makes quite an interesting and memorable scene. The camera was a 35mm Minolta with a fixed standard 50 mm, f2.7 lens. In analysing and judging from the shadows in the picture, I notice that they are falling at an angle across the balconies of the hotel. So it seems that the picture must have been taken on one very sunny April day, the time probably being 10 o'clock or so.

The photo was shot using Kodachrome 35mm transparency, 64 ASA film. It was sent to Kodak Film Laboratories at Hemel Hempstead, England, for processing from the Trucial States of Oman (now the U.A.E.) where I worked. It would have taken about 3 weeks to receive the slides in its trademark yellow box and transparent lid. Cost of processing was included in the price of the film itself, as was stated on the film carton.

Now, the date stamped by Kodak on the slide mount reads as 'MAY 69' which is the processing date of the film, in addition to 'Slide No.19' and 'View from this side' type-stamped on the transparency mount. So I assume I must have taken this picture sometime in April 1969 during my usual summer vacation times to Goa.

The reason and the opportunity to take a frontal shot of the Hotel from River Mandovi must have been due to the fact that the good old ferry (gajelin) was the sole mode of transportation to get across to Panjim from Mapusa via Betim - and it had to be a nautical kind. The first Mandovi bridge must not have been quite ready then - I think it must have opened to traffic the following year. Sadly it collapsed in 1986, just like the several elected Goa State Governments that collapsed in the following years!

On viewing the slide using a macro transparency viewer, next to the hotel I can seen two signboards on the first floor an old building, presenting itself in sharp contrast and appearance with reinforced concrete columns, laterite stones and unfinished plastering, probably awaiting the services of professional 'bhaillo' plasterer! Or it could have been a reconstruction of a much older building entrusted to a local who must have been taking his own time.

Again, on closer inspection of the diapositive with the aid of a magnifier the signboard on the left reads: 'The Syndicate Bank Ltd. Panaji'. The lettering on the other sign alongside, and to the right, is barely discernible. My guess is that it would be the signboard of head offices of the Life Insurance Corporation of India, but I could be wrong.

The slide will complete a cool 44 years in May 2013. The above picture of the very same slide was re-taken using my 30-year old 'Hansa' Bellows Slide Copier and Close-up lenses combination coupled with a Nikon D40X Digital Camera.

Tony Fernandes

The Summons

The Summons

(Excerpted from my poems in poetry.com) http://www.poetry.com/dotnet/P2289913/999/4/display.aspx

(Poem originally titled as "The Journey"and published in my book
"GOA - Memories of My Homeland" in 2004)

Summarizing our own mortality while we grieve for our loved ones, at times we comfort those who have lost theirs, but have to contend with the fact that we might leave others to grieve for us when our days on earth are done.

THE JOURNEY

When the final summons beckons
At my door to leave for another shore
A call I can't ignore,
My life's journey's end
sudden and abrupt;
I will have to leave in haste,
A departure I cannot adjourn,
Defer or halt, no luggage to haul
Before I acknowledge my final roll call.
Let me therefore do good,
pardon friend or foe
'cause it may be too late to do so
When the Lord knocks on my door
Unable to look back I will have to go.
From up above I will probably only see
Unable to respond, direct, guide or tell
But perhaps I could only wish
and hope there is at least one good thing
That I will be remembered by, if at all.

Tony Felix Fernandes
Copyright ©2008 Tony Felix Fernandes

http://www.poetry.com/dotnet/P2289913/999/4/display.aspx

NOSTALGIA OF MONTE - Four Annas & the Loaf of Bread

NOSTALGIA OF MONTE (The Friars and the Boys - by Tony Fernandes
(Class of 1964) Author of "Goa - Memories of My Homeland"
(A collection of poems & stories of the lives and times in Goa)

FOUR ANNAS AND THE LOAF OF BREAD

The difference in the daily lives and routines between the boarders and day-scholars at the school were varied and wide by comparison. I think I learned this well from day-schooling friends of mine. They had different stories to relate - from doing daily house-hold chores to helping their parents in the fields to others who had food cooked and placed ready at their tables. Some told stories of how they helped, in the fields and at home, from drawing water from the wells and going to the nearby mill to have the rationed wheat or rice ground into flour to doing the various chores around the house the whole year through, while others shied away from telling so when in fact they did.

But, I knew a day-scholar who became one of my best friends through the years at Monte de Guirim. His name was Felicio. He lived in the village of Guirim, commuting on foot every day all through my years at Monte. He always had a smile on his face and was liked by all. I admired his endurance and resilience to any given situation, come rain, floods or the hot afternoon sun. He was a very hardworking student and did well in most subjects and steadily ranked among the top ten in our class. I saw him hurrying clutching his books in one hand, or his bag over his shoulder and his lunch tin in the other, headed towards the specially allocated ‘buthi’(tiffin) room. Remarkably though, what I did notice was that at times he did not carry his ‘buthi’, and came in straight to the class. And for many years I always wondered why. I hoped to find out and solve the mystery some day.

As it turned out, before I knew it, our final schooling year was about to end. In just another couple of months, days at Monte would be over. Finally, just before our S.S.S.Examinations, I gathered all the courage I had, and asked Felicio as to why he had not carried his tiffin (buthi or packed lunch) on certain days during his last many years at Monte. What he then related to me was something that I definitely was not prepared for. And the story he related shocked me to the core. And then I wished I had known this all along. To my astonishment he described how on most days his mother somehow had managed to cook and provide the lunch in a tin; and how sometimes when she had fallen ill and had not been able to prepare it in time and have it ready for Felicio to take it with him in the morning. At other times his mother had left very early at dawn to work in the fields. And there were some other times when they had nothing to cook at all. And those were the days when he had not brought his ‘buthi’.

But, Felicio would carry a four-paise coin (four annas) that his mother gave him safely tied to a hand-kerchief lest should he lose it and go hungry. During the afternoon break this four-paise coin would sometimes see him through with a loaf of bread from the school’s kitchen and some sweets from the shop down the hill at the “T” junction.

But those kitchen servers who worked there were nice and kind. On some days they never took money from Felicio. Nor did they know that one loaf of bread was all that he would have for his lunch. And I had not known this fact at all, all the previous years either. I wonder perhaps whether it would have mattered had I known the fact all this time. Perhaps I could have tried to help him and offer him solace. What I clearly remember is that as the afternoon break neared its end I saw him walking up the slope on the eastern side of the hill that overlooked the Church and the hills of Vaddem and Porvorim while he still kept up his smile.

I wonder whether that smile kept me away from my intention of approach. Years went by since then. We did keep in touch at times in the subsequent years after SSCE. I met Felicio once in Mapusa in the early seventies. He was shopping for provisions along with his mother. He still carried his trademark smile. It was a busy Friday bazaar day as usual in the month of May. We both happened to be vacationing in Goa at that time, returning from work on our annual leave from different parts of the world. Felicio insisted that I and my mother join him for drinks and snacks at Café Xavier which I gladly did. We chatted about the good old days for a while. When we had finished eating he even insisted to pay as well, and I relented. Drawing his wallet out from his pocket he quickly handed cash to the waiter.

With his eyes slightly moist Felicio looked at me – perhaps thinking of his old days at Monte - the four-anna coin and the loaf of bread! But he didn’t say anything. For a while time seemed to have stood still. We both probably kept our thoughts to ourselves, reminiscing about our own times at the hillock, as his mother silently looked on.

Only this time it was perhaps quite different than the afternoon meals at school - a scrumptious lunch would definitely await him today, I thought. Almost reading my thoughts Felicio he asked me to come over to his house for lunch, but I had to decline as I had to take provisions home myself. God bless him wherever he is today.

In the fascinating and enchanting, peaceful and serene surroundings of Monte de Guirim, still stands high the mighty school of St. Anthony. While on these memories I always fondly dwell, they will forever give me a reason to relate to my children the wonderful stories of the great times at Monte, chat about it with my classmates of long ago, and remember the good old school days at Monte, or a school friend like Felicio, once in a while.

Tony Felix (Felicio) Fernandes
Author of : Goa - Memories of My Homeland

(Written in 'third person singular' form - Felicio is my middle name - I was that boy Felicio)

Blue Skies (Video)

Blue Skies - sung by Jim Reeves
Video adaptation by 'tonferns'

Jim Reeves

Jim Reeves was very popular in India during the 1950’s and 1960’s. His songs were frequently played on Radio Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), Emissora de Goa (a radio station in Goa up to 18 December 1961) and All-India-Radio Bombay. His records were pressed by HMV in Dum-Dum, West Bengal, India. They were available in Bombay and all other major cities in India.

Today in the west some people are surprised when I mention Jim's name, while others (born and brought up in North America) have never even heard of him. The first song by Jim Reeves that I heard when I was a kid was ‘He’ll have to go’. Ever since then I’ve remained hooked on to his songs. Jim Reeves was very popular in India and Ceylon for his sentimental songs since in the 1950 and is a popular choice in many Goan homes. His songs were aired daily on request programs of Radio Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and on Emissora de Goa’s (now All India Radio Panjim) Sunday afternoon listener’s choice programme.


In Bombay (now Mumbai), during my teens in the mid-sixties, I used to save on bus-fare by walking home from college. But on the way I used to spend it by listening to Jim Reeves 'Snowflake' on the juke-box, over a cup of coffee, at Cafe Mondegar in Colaba, near Regal Cinema.

In the 1960's and 1970's, many people in the Indian Sub-continent owned gadgets what were known as 'Radiograms' that played LP Record, 78's and 45's in addition to receiving radio programs on Short Wave and Medium Wave Radio. Walk into any Goan home in Bombay, from Colaba to Bandra, Byculla to Dhobitalo, or Mahim to Worli, you would invariably hear Jim Reeves playing in their home. Ricky Nelson, Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard, Engelbert Humperdinck or Billy Vaughn and Bill Black Combo were also popular in many record collections.

During the time when I lived and worked in Dubai in late 1960's and 1970's, Jim Reeves' records, being an RCA label, were then not available in the Trucial States of Oman (now U.A.E.), but since the LP's were pressed in Dum Dum, India, folks who travelled to India on their annual vacation, often purchased them there.

Yeah...but most of all, and all this being said and written about the great Gentleman Jim, I'll never change anything that holds the memory of him. Oh yeah! (now, if you like Jim, try to sing those lyrics based on his song: 'I'm gonna change everything. Ageless tune, everlasting song!)

Click on the following link and give it a listen. Turn up the volume and enjoy the lyrics and the rhythm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdz1Par0Wns

Among many songs by Jim Reeves in my collection, ‘Blue Skies’ still remains a favourite. Click on 'play' to listen. I hope you will enjoy it too. It was composed by Irving Berlin in 1926.

Lyrics:

Blue skies smilin' at me

Nothin' but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singin' a song

Nothin' but bluebirds all day long.

I never saw the sun shinin' so bright

Never saw things goin' so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, oh my how they fly.

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothin' but blue skies from now on.


Jim Reeves was born in Galloway, Texas, on 20 August 1923. He died in a plane crash during a violent thunderstorm on 31 July 1964. He was well-known for his warm, velvety, baritone voice and often referred to respectfully as ‘Gentleman Jim’. Among his various other numerous hits and touching songs were ‘Adios Amigo’, ‘Welcome to My World' and ‘Am I losing you’. His Christmas album still remains as the best of all time.
During the 1960's, if one walked into a Goan family home that had a 'radiogram' it would undoubtedly have been a Jim Reeves 12 inch vinyl record spinning on the 6-LP stackable record changer.

                In the 1970's compact cassettes arrived on the scene followed by CD's in 1980's. Some of his recorded tracks were released by his widow, Mary Reeves, after his death with additional instrumental back-up.
Incidentally, MARY REEVES was born on 20 Jan.1929 and died on 11 Nov.1999.
Today, walk into any Goan home at Christmas time, and it will be Jim Reeves' Christmas album, in all probability, a CD.

                Forty-fours years after his death, his songs still continue to sell on CD's. The inscription on the pedestal of his life-size statue at his memorial in Carthage, Texas, reads as follows:

"If I, a lowly singer, dry one tear, or soothe one humble human heart in pain, then my homely verse to God is dear, and not one stanza has been sung in vain."

GENTLEMAN JIM

Lightning in Goa, India

Lightning in Goa, India

Photographed on Monday, 25 September 2000

Published in the Herald Newspaper (Sunday Edition)

Goa, 1 October 2000

(Streams of headlights created by passing vehicles

on the road from Mapsa to Calangute are seen on the right of the picture)

It was the time when I was on a 2-month vacation in Goa . It had been a normal day with the usual clouds that seemingly appeared to race through the September skies. Then at dusk there was a sudden calm and the skies darkened rapidly. There was sound of distant thunder and a strong wind blew across the village, accompanied by a light drizzle of rain. I happened to be at home that evening, sitting in the balcao (Port. for balcony) of my house in Canca-Parra, Bardez, Goa, just watching the traffic speeding by.

Inspired by thoughts of the possibility perhaps to photograph lightning, I realized about my chance of capturing it on film in Goa after a long time. So I rushed inside the house to get my camera and tripod. I hastily set it up facing south through the clearing among the trees in the direction of the faint streaks of lightning, that could be seen in the distance, more or less towards the lighthouse at Fort Aguada, Sinquerim.

After setting the aperture on the camera, came the long wait. I was hoping for the lightning to happen while I remained in the safe confines of the first floor balcony of my bedroom protecting both myself and the camera gear, from the wind and lashing rain. I lost a few exposures at first, as nothing exciting happened. I got a few exposures that I thought probably were not satisfactory. So I set the camera on 'B'. took the less cap off and waited again for a while. To my great satisfaction I was finally rewarded - or so I hoped till I got the film developed in Mapusa the next day to know about the final result. And here it is - witness lightning in Goa.

The Village Wells of Goa & 'Deu Boro Dis Dhium'

Down by the Village Well

GOA - India

(Pen and Ink drawing by Tony Felix Fernandes)

In the old days every village in Goa had at least 4 or 5 communal wells. My house was located near one of such wells. These wells provided us with crystal clear natural water for drinking, cooking, bathing, watering plants in our garden and trees around the house. Winding narrows paths from neighbours' houses lead to the well. Long before dawn I would be awakened by the noise of copper pots clashing against each other or as they were placed on the ledge of the well. When I was very young this well did not have a pulley. It was installed in recent times and makes drawing water considerable easy.

The beautiful common greeting in Konkani: ‘Deu Boro Dis Dhium’ (May God give you a good day or Good Morning) were the first words of the morning to one’s neighbour who we met when we went to draw water from the village well.

Konkani is an Indo-Aryan language belonging to the Indo-European family of languages and is spoken on the western (Konkan) coast of India. It is one of the official languages of India, the official language of the Indian state of Goa and is a minority language in Karnataka.

BEYOND THE SUNSET (Video)

BEYOND THE SUNSET

There will be a blissful morning

Beyond the Sunset

Words by Virgil P. Brock

Music by Blanche Kerr Brock © Word Music, Inc.

Sung by: Mary Jo Stafford & Gordon MacRae

Beyond the sunset, O blissful morning,

When with our Savior heav'n is begun;

Earth's toiling ended, O glorious dawning,

Beyond the sunset when day is done.

Beyond the sunset, no clouds will gather,

No storms will threaten, no fears annoy;

O day of gladness, O day unending,

Beyond the sunset eternal joy!

Beyond the sunset, a hand will guide me

To God the Father whom I adore;

His glorious presence, His words of welcome,

Will be my portion on that fair shore.

Beyond the sunset, O glad reunion,

With our dear loved ones who've gone before;

In that fair homeland we'll know no parting,

Beyond the sunset forever more!

Main Picture: Sunset at Fisher Lake.

Near Kearney, Ontario.

Photograph by: Tony Fernandes

FROM FAR CORNERS OF THE GLOBE

It was way back in 1970 on a test transmission of an FM station in Dubai, then a sheikhdom in Trucial States of Oman, now known as the United Arab Emirates, where I first heard Anne Murray’s songs on the radio. Her records and cassettes, and later, CDs were available in music shops there.

My family and I hail from a music loving community of Goa, a Portuguese colony for 451 years in India till 1961. Anne Murray’s hits, 'You Needed Me' and 'Could I have this dance' have been the most popular songs sung at weddings in Goa and at dance galas in the U.A.E. where we lived and worked for many years.

My wife, my three children and I immigrated to Canada in 1998. And of course we brought along with us modest collections of Anne Murray's records, tapes and CD's.

Recently, my children presented to my wife and myself, as a surprise gift in advance for Mother’s Day & Father’s Day. These were in fact tickets to see and hear Anne Murray at the concert in Toronto on Friday, 25th April, 2008.

This was indeed a great moment for us. Through the corner of my eye I saw my wife crying at the concert - I don’t know whether she noticed me - while I tried to hide my own tears. For us it was like a life-long dream come true. It is a concert that we will cherish for the rest of our lives. It has been a long musical journey of sorts for us listening to Anne Murray’s beautiful voice - first on the radio, then cassettes and LP's (38 years ago) and later CD's and finally live in concert. In the 80’s we often saw her on TV in the U.A.E.

My children grew up hearing her songs that I played at home through the years. I was also a DJ playing at weddings, anniversaries, birthdays and first communion parties and 'Blue Bird' was my signature opening number on many occasions.

My youngest daughter, Dahlia Fernandes, 25, is a budding singer/song-writer. Presently she is competing in the Young Asian Idol Singing Competition in Ontario.

This is a tribute to Anne Murray, appreciation and gratitude for bringing joy in our life through her songs.

Tony FernandesAuthor of: GOA – MEMORIES OF MY HOMELAND
(Poems & Short Stories) Published in Canada

Mississauga
Ontario